Learning to Exhale
by unfortunate star
Summary: The Malfoy's trial was fair by all means, according to the Wizengamot, but the rest of the Wizarding World doesn't plan on forgiving Draco any time soon. He plans on redeeming himself, but as he finds out, it's not easy. Set after the War. Canon.
1. Prologue

Author's Note: The only thing out of canon in this story is the fate of the adult Malfoy's (and in coming chapters, an original character).

According to Miss Rowling, Narcissa's assistance in the Forbidden Forest after the King Cross's chapter helped all three avoid Azkaban. However, that did not sit right with me and this is my take on Draco Malfoy's fate. This will not be a long chapter-fic, as I really do not have the patience for it, but I have most of it planned (or written) out and hope to be done with it by August.

Disclaimer: Just for good measure, I do not own much.

Learning to Exhale

Prologue

Whether or not he would get out of this mess, he was not sure. He sat alone in his cell in Azkaban for over a month, but he lost count of the days.

It was dark and it was cold; he was thankful there were no dementors, but the despair they left in a place remained. Draco could feel death around him, and the thought made him shiver alone in his cell. He had seen death, even if he was unable to commit the act himself, but he did not know if he would ever be used to it.

An Auror paced by on one of their rounds. He looked up and briefly, their eyes met through the bars. The Auror smirked at seeing the imprisoned Malfoy, even having the nerve to twirl his wand between his fingers. Draco's brow furrowed and he nearly snarled, despite his fear and his coldness. When he turned away and closed his eyes, trying to block the laughter, his thoughts returned to the day that the Snatcher's had brought Harry Potter and his crew to the Malfoy Manor. Potter had taken his wand. While he had been using his mother's, it had even felt a comfort to this feeling of loss. Nonetheless, the wand had been taken from him, and was now in the hands of the Ministry.

He felt powerless and he was afraid.

That fear intensified when he, along with his parents, were summoned to court.


	2. Chapter One

Learning to Exhale

Chapter One

The three blonde-haired people sat nervously and it was apparent in their faces. Bound to their own chairs, it was hard for comfort to pass between them. They awaited the verdict with fear, curiosity, and apprehension running through their veins as one.

The Chief Warlock looked down upon the trio, his face set without hint of his justification. The Wizengamot sat beside him; all fifty of their faces set the same. Each one believed that the fate of Lucius Malfoy was well deserved. "Is there anything any of you would like to say, before the verdict is spoken?"

"No," came the singular, quiet reply.

"Very well then," the warlock continued immediately, "The Wizengamot finds Lucius Malfoy guilty of all charges, including the pre-meditated murder of innocent Muggle's and Muggleborn's as a known Death Eater, and sentenced to seventy-five years in Azkaban without visitation rights. Narcissa Malfoy is found guilty of all charges, including associating with Death Eaters and withholding information from the Ministry of Magic. However, upon Harry Potter's confession of aide from her, Missus Malfoy's sentence is lessened from twenty-five years to ten in Azkaban without visitation. Draco Malfoy is found guilty for associating with Death Eaters. Nevertheless," the Chief Warlock looked over his glasses at the shaking young Malfoy, "The Wizengamot finds him not guilty on all other charges. His sentence is eighteen months of careful watch, while he is to reestablish himself in the Wizarding World.

All are found guilty of receiving the Dark Mark. The Malfoy family is hereby stripped of any titles held and all fortune, valuables, and the Malfoy Manor will be seized by the Ministry." The gavel was brought down once, but it was a loud and sharp noise, "You may have five minutes to speak good-bye, Draco Malfoy, before your mother and father will be taken by the guards."

Narcissa was weeping openly as her son's bonds were loosened magically, yet Lucius and she were still bound. For a moment as the Wizengamont made their exodus, Draco sat stunned, his face tight and blank. However, he turned to face his parents, whose eyes were wet and wide. They were scared, but he could not fathom pity in his stomach. All he felt was the need to get sick. "Father, mother," he looked at each one pointedly before standing and kissing his mother's cheek, stroking her hair from her face. "What am I to do?"

Lucius could not help but laugh mirthlessly. Of course, Draco would be at a loss of what to do. He had barely done anything in his life without one of them there at his side or guiding him. "Son, you may have thought you grew up long ago. I admit I thought the same; I was so anxious to drag you into the Dark Lord's mess," the hint of conscience made Draco blink rapidly, wiping furiously at the itching that had began in his eyes. "But we were wrong, weren't we?" The Malfoy smirk crossed Lucius's lips, but his eyes filled with sadness, "This is where the line is drawn, Draco."

"Oh my babe," Narcissa longed to take her son in her arms. He sensed the need and wrapped her as best as he could within his, hoping it would suffice. "There is so much I wish I could say," she pursed her lips as a fresh wave of tears caught her. She managed to continue as she tried to stifle her sobs, "But all I can ask of you is to make us proud."

"Yes, Draco," his father added quietly, "Do that."

"I wish they had at least given visitation rights," the youngest blond whispered.

"We're lucky that Shacklebolt got rid of the use of dementors. There is no doubt in my mind that I would've gotten the Kiss."

"Father don't speak like that. That's-"

"Exactly what would've happened, Draco. Do not deny that. In fact, don't ever deny the truth. I learned the hard way; we all did and this is our punishment. At least the Wizengamot have given you a chance to redeem yourself."

Draco was silent but he nodded his head once. He wanted to speak so much more, to gain so much from them, but apparently their five minutes were over and four burly men approached and stood before them. Narcissa shook and Draco quickly kissed her cheek again, holding her tightly. "Mother," he whispered for only her to hear. Although he wanted to speak of his affection towards his mother, he was unable to say the words, and Narcissa seemed to understand.

As he looked to his father, the fit of nausea almost seized him. He had considered this man a pillar of strength in his youth, but now he saw his father as a broken man, one who would possibly die before he saw him again. In spite of that, he was still unsure of how to say good-bye. "Father," he choked, the itching in his eyes turning into tears.

Lucius nodded once, his jaw set. "It's all right, son. Everything will be alright."

The guards, fed up with their delay, roughly pulled Draco away. The young Malfoy watched as his parents were freed from their bonds briefly, but were pulled up by the guards and magically bound again. His parents watched him in apprehension. Although scared for themselves, they could not help but worry about their son. The reassurance that Lucius had given him seconds before resounded in his mind as they were led from the room.

Draco stood for a moment, alone and shaking, before a thin man entered the room and drew near slowly.

"Mister Malfoy?" Draco realized it was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and upon the recognition, inclined his head slightly. "I am to escort you from here to the Atrium, where your wand will be returned-"

"It was my mother's," he mumbled.

"Excuse me, sir?"

"The wand I brought with me was my mother's. My wand was taken during the war and, due to the circumstances, I've been unable to get a new one."

"Oh," the Department Head nodded, "Thank you. I'll be sure to relay the message." There was a brief, uncomfortable pause, before he continued, "Well, if you would follow me."

Draco followed the man from the dungeon, nearly dragging his feet. Despite the Wizengamot's favor, Draco still felt a burden resting heavily on his soul. He realized the road ahead of him would be a long one.


	3. Chapter Two

Author's Note: Introduction of an original character.

Learning to Exhale

Chapter Two

"Hey," the voice of Melanie Fortescue, daughter of Florean Fortescue and current owner of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, interrupted his tirade of how much he 'bloody well hated this'. "What have I told you about that language, Draco?"

Draco's shoulders immediately sagged and could not help but give her a withering glare. "Sorry Melanie," he gritted out, disliking the words of apology coming from his mouth. He stooped to pick up the shards of bowl that he had dropped moments prior, but as Melanie laid a hand on his shoulder, he looked up.

"Don't be dumb, let me get that," her words were not condescending as before, but soft and understanding. She knew his struggles living in the post-war life. Everyone knew about what happened to the Malfoy's, even though he refused to speak anything of it. The papers had been keeping updated with his story and had tried desperately to get a word from him, but he always turned them away. Eventually the journalists had given up, although once in awhile a photographer would show up at the parlor to take his picture.

The problem with hiring Draco Malfoy had not only been his history and his dependency, but also his pessimistic attitude. Melanie had taken a leap of faith in hiring him, but she believed that if she had turned him away - as everyone else had in Diagon Alley - that he would never be trusted again. However, when he decided to share with her that he had no wand three days into his training, she felt angry enough to fire him on the spot though she had merely clamped her mouth shut and stormed away.

He had told his story briefly, how his wand had been taken from him during the war, and although he had been using his mothers, it was not returned to him. Draco couldn't afford a new one yet, nor did he have a permanent roof over his head.

She pulled her wand from her pocket and easily fixed the bowl with a sharp flick. It hovered in the air and Draco took it with his hands, his eyes transfixed on the pot in an angry glare. She knew he missed having power, and although she pitied him, Melanie could not really afford to do anything about it without making huge sacrifices.

"How about taking a break, Draco?" she offered, pocketing her wand and taking the bowl from him, "Take a walk; get some fresh air. You've been stuffed up inside all day."

Gritting his teeth, he nodded and untied his simple black apron, only to crumple it up and stash it under the counter. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes," he said as he stalked from the shop.

"Of course," Melanie sighed as the tinkling of the bell dimmed and she leaned against the counter. She watched his form disappear past the window, only to shake her head.

He was an angry person and easily became frustrated with himself. Although she knew nothing about his pre-war and pre-trial characteristics, she was sure it was nothing new, except it was clear he kept his emotions bottled up inside. Melanie returned to the job he had left behind: taking the clean dishes and putting them away.

She hummed lightly to herself as she did so, taking pride by doing it by hand. There were a few costumers sitting in the spring air outside the shop and took no notice of her, but Melanie's thoughts were far away from Draco and his problems. They were on her father, Florean, and how she had acquired the parlor because of his death at the hands of Death Eaters. For a brief moment, she pondered if Draco had been present - or took part - in his death. As her forehead wrinkled, she stacked a few cups on their proper shelves. She refused to think of that.

Florean's death in 1996 had been abrupt, but in the midst of the spring of 1999, less than a month away from the one-year anniversary of the end of the war, things were getting back to normal. It was not a life of luxury, running the place, but at thirty-seven Melanie had mainly been doing off-hand jobs. She had considered selling out, but knew her father would have strongly disapproved and did not want to disobey his will's orders: that she was to run the shop. Sighing, she finished the job with a flick of her wand, now too wound up to continue the process by hand.

When Draco returned right on time, she waited until he tied his apron around his waist again to speak. "Draco," she said, "I realize you've been having a tough time-"

"I'm fine, Melanie," he interjected hastily.

"See, just because you said that quickly, makes me think it's not true." She received a glare but it did not deter her, "You've only been working here a couple months. Many other employers' around here were telling me you tried getting a job with them, but as they like to say, I'm the only one who took you under my wing."

She watched his jaw set and he avoided her eyes. It was funny how he could be so stubborn, but Melanie sighed and placed her hands on her hips. "I've been thinking - and I hope this does appeal to you - but I have a proposition for you." Draco's eyes shifted, but were still unable to meet hers. Knowing she had his attention, she continued, "I know the biggest thing that's got you upset is not having a wand. Well, how about I pay you in advance to buy one?" At last, he looked up, astonished; "But," she spoke before he could interject, holding up a finger, "You'll have to take a room here instead of passing between your friends, and you'll have to work without pay for awhile."

His mouth had slackened and she could tell his spirits were lifted, "That would be great, Melanie."

"Good, then we'll close up shop early tomorrow and go to Ollivander's. If you'd like, you can bring your belongings with you in the morning and store them in a room upstairs."

The way he grit his teeth made Melanie smile; _he_ was trying not to smile. It was a moment later that Draco nodded, "Thanks."

She nodded in response, but then a costumer entered and their conversation ended as she turned to service them.

Draco stood ready to create, by hand, the order. Although the thought had previously made him the unhappiest man on the planet, thanks to Melanie's generosity, he delighted in scooping the ice cream into a clean bowl. He realized that it would be the last complete day he would be without a wand. When he returned to stand behind the counter from delivering the order, he could not help but close his eyes, bow his head, and at last smile.

After those months of suffering in Azkaban before his trial, his time of unemployment, and being wand-less, things were finally looking up for him. Although Draco was constantly on edge, thinking about the war and his parents, he had begun to see things - however much he thought he hated it - would never be the same. Besides, deep down, he knew that was okay with him.


	4. Chapter Three

Learning to Exhale

Chapter Three

After their excursion at Ollivander's, where Draco felt uncomfortable in the old man's midst, he was a mess of elated and depressed feelings. Of course, he was grateful that Melanie had done such a selfless act for him, but seeing Ollivander caused thoughts he had suppressed resurface.

The duo returned to the store, but sensing his off behavior, Melanie did not press to open the parlor even if there was still time to catch some last minute shoppers. Instead, she invited him to join her at one of the tables and fixed them some tea. "Do you like it?" she asked idly as she poured the tea into two cups. Melanie looked up over the counter to see Draco pull his new wand from his pocket.

He slid it between his fingers and gave it a flick, causing simple red sparks to emit from the end. Melanie's heartbeat quickened but she deepened her breath's to calm it. Closing her eyes as she set the kettle down, she knew she was being foolish. She had enough faith in Draco that he would not turn against her, but one could not be too careful.

She sat the cups between them on the table once she returned. He still had his wand in his hand, held aloft but his eyes remained on it. "It just feels different," he said quietly, "But it has been a year since I had my original. I suppose the feeling comes with getting a new wand."

For one last moment, he inspected the wand that chose him before sliding it in his pocket. He looked at Melanie briefly before leaning forward and cupping his hands around the glass set before him. "Thank you," his voice remained quiet but serious. Draco could not quite meet her eyes at his gratitude, but she moved a hand forward to touch his exposed wrist in a maternal gesture with her fingertips.

They remained in the silence before he slowly pulled away, beginning to feel slightly awkward. He was not used to such gestures, except from his mother, and just the thought of her in Azkaban caused him to flinch. Melanie, not exactly abashed but curious, pulled her hand away as her brow knitted. "Would you like to tell me what's wrong?" she murmured.

She saw the frustration appear on his face: the way his jaw set, how his brow furrowed deeply, how he continued to not meet her gaze. Melanie took a sip of her tea, but waited to see if he would take her offer to talk things through or simply ignore her. The answer came shortly after he took his own sip of the warm liquid.

Draco set his cup down and inhaled, "You know Ollivander disappeared during the war? Well, he was confined and tortured at the Malfoy Manor." His eyes closed and he scowled. During his dreams, sometimes the old man's screams came back to haunt him. He refused to admit this to anyone, or how he was glad he was away from the house quite a bit because of school during the time. Having to see the Dark Lord take up residence in the manor, using it as Headquarters, torturing anyone, using _him_ as a tool to do dark deeds, was finally taking its last toll on Draco. Yet he refused to let it show anymore.

Was he forever to remain as a frail, scared child? He thought bitterly of the moments spent in the Dark Lord's presence. All he had done was cower. In just a few mere weeks, it would be the year-anniversary of what he called The End. Shortly after that, Draco would turn nineteen, but he still felt so small.

In less than a year, Draco had learnt so much of himself. Yes, he was frightened; he was alone, he was afraid, he did not know what to do. He was inhaling, trying to remain onto something in his life that would remain solid, and the fear of letting go kept him from exhaling.

He had to be strong, not just for himself, but also for his parents. When he realized what that action was, it had taken him time to overcome the shock. The selflessness of caring about them more than himself caused his eyes to open.

Draco looked up at Melanie when he realized she had not spoken anything in reply. Slowly, his face relaxed from the contorted state it was in into an expression of vacancy. Only then did she speak, "I guess my assumption that you saw or heard this take place is correct." He nodded sluggishly, grinding his teeth. "Don't get upset again," she said softly, shaking her head, "It gets you nowhere."

Holding onto that, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment or two. "I did," he spat the words, "And hate is not strong enough a word to define how I feel about it." His hands curled into fists and he opened his eyes to slits, again avoiding hers, "None of us knew what on earth the Dark Lord had captured Ollivander for. We assumed it had _something_ to do with wands, obviously, but we had no clue."

"Well, wasn't the gist of it explained by Harry Potter himself, or through other witnesses? It all had to do with the connection between his and You-Know-Who's wands," Melanie offered as bait, trying to coax words from him. She hated to see him struggle.

"I don't know," his shoulders slumped in defeat, "The Dark Lord took my father's wand and it was destroyed by Potter's. I don't know what happened to it, nor does anyone else."

She saw him begin the rebuilding of his defense mechanism. While they had rarely shared such private matters before, she knew his cycle. He would refuse to speak, then he would grow angry, and finally break down and build himself a barrier between himself and every other living being. Usually Melanie would fight to keep his defenses down, to get him to speak, but she let him stew in private thought this time.

The long stretch of time before either moved or spoke only filled with quiet sips from their cups and the last remnants of the day's activities in Diagon Alley. At last, each finished their tea, and Melanie took the empty glasses to the sink and rinsed them. She dried her hands on a towel and spoke, "I'm going to turn in early, Draco. Could you do me a favor and shut off the lights when you head to bed?"

He looked at her, their eyes met, and she saw the wall completed with the lifelessness in his eyes. "Sure thing," he said in a flat tone.


	5. Chapter Four

Learning to Exhale

Chapter Four

Melanie continued to watch her only employee become frustrated for the next few days. It was clear he rejoiced in having his new wand, and that bit made her happy, but watching him suffer also dampened her spirits. She could tell that he was feeling empty, or some similar feeling, after their little chat a few nights ago. However, she was limited to how much she got to see of Draco and this limited her scrutiny.

When she offered him a break during the day, he would not walk into Diagon Alley as he used to. Instead, he would climb the stairs to his room and brood for a few minutes before returning. She was at a loss on how to help him.

The relief, though, came in the form of a Weasley who she recognized from the papers after the war. He had been close mates with Harry Potter, she had read, and found it peculiar he was in her shop on a Monday afternoon.

Melanie had been watching the broom sweep particles into a dustpan, directed by her wand, when he walked in. He nodded to her in greeting, but when Draco emerged from the back room at the sound of the tinkling bell at the door, the air instantly became thick.

"Malfoy," the redhead spoke, although he could have been spitting the words, "Fancy meetin' _you _here. George is gong to get a kick out of this." She expected a retort from the blond, but figured he knew Melanie was paying attention and merely greeted the guest, asking to take his order. "I bet you never thought you'd be working here, did you, high and mighty Malfoy?"

"I never thought a lot of things would happen, Weasley." The malice formed in Draco's words and the sweeping of Melanie's broom gave a harder switch across the floor. He looked towards her briefly, but merely turned back to the redhead when she did not speak.

She did not see Weasley's reaction, because he only spoke what ice cream treats he wanted, but the tension did not lessen. Finishing the sweeping, she empted the dustpan in the bin, washed her hands, and went to make the first order. Draco had turned to make it himself, but she intervened and took the shaking scoop from his hand wordlessly. She directed him to start on the second one, which was much less complicated.

There was a snort from the redhead but he didn't speak, merely slipped his hands into his pockets after putting the appropriate change onto the counter. However, when Draco placed the finished orders side by side before him, scooping the money into the register, Ron Weasley did speak. "You know, I was gonna kill Harry if we had died saving your arse in that fire."

"That makes perfect sense," Draco said unkindly.

Ron stopped for a moment, his hands outstretched to grab his orders. He was not sure if Draco's words were in agreement or sarcasm, so he merely narrowed his eyes. "Still a ruddy ferret," he said in retort, "I'm glad you know what it's like to be poor and worthless, Malfoy."

Melanie saw hurt and anger cross her employee's face, and she pushed him aside to face the Weasley. "That's enough, sir. I will not have anyone speaking like that to my employee. Now, I ask you to leave before I use force."

Surprise spread over Ron's face, but when he looked between them he merely scoffed and took his treats and left. Together, they watched him disappear down the road before either moved. Draco slumped against the counter, head in his arms, but his fingers were curled, white, in fists. Melanie remained where she was, eyes watching him, before leaning against the counter next to him.

"I have a feeling I know why he looked surprised before he left," Draco said after nearly two minutes of silence.

Melanie hummed in her throat, glad there were no other costumer's, "Why?"

"He was surprised that someone would stick up for me."

Draco raised his head and she saw the way his face was scrunched up in anger. He was looking directly at her, trying not to direct his anger at her. In his rage, he straightened and kicked the broom and dustpan that Melanie had leaned against the counter. The simple wooden structure and metal pan sailed a few feet before skidding to a halt.

Melanie put her hands to her hips and cocked her head at him. "Now, was that really necessary?" she asked sarcastically.

Taken aback by her response, he stood guilty before her. His jaw worked, teeth grinding each other, before he responded. "No," it was quiet, anger subsiding, "I suppose not."

"Put it back where it was, Draco," she said assertively, watching until he complied. "Try not to take your anger out with violence, especially on something so much smaller than you. You know what that makes you?" she questioned, making sure he was paying full attention to her. She knew he had to grasp these words. If he did not, everything their world had gone through was futile. While that may have seemed drastic in retrospect, she knew that Draco had to come to accept who he had been and what he had gone through. Most importantly, he had to accept who he was now. "Picking on someone - or something - smaller than you makes you weak," Melanie paused for emphasis. "It was what that Weasley bloke was doing; it was everything that You-Know-Who did. Or, at least he was picking on people he thought smaller and weaker than he was."

He looked at her blankly. Melanie continued in a softer tone, "I know, for a fact, that not everyone You-Know-Who 'picked on' was weak." The maternal instincts kicked on and she wanted to envelope him, but knew if he wanted any kind of affection, he would have to be the one to initiate it.

Draco continued to stare at her with blankness in his eyes. He knew that she meant him, it was evident in the way she was watching him, but he did not feel strong. "Melanie," he said simply, flatly, "You have it wrong."

Her face fell and shaking her head, she spoke, "If you never accept a compliment, Draco, how do you expect to build yourself up?"

He knew what it was like to be built up. To be so full of himself, he thought he was impervious to anything. However, that had been the first thing to go when he had become a Death Eater. Except, he knew the answer to her question: he built himself up by blocking people emotionally. He was now the captain of this vessel, not the Dark Lord.

Slowly, Draco sat on the floor behind the counter, pressed against the cupboards and rolled up his left sleeve. The pale skin held a scar in the shape of what his Dark Mark had looked like. That hideous skull and snake, now permanently etched in his skin as a scar that no spell or potion could hide. It reminded him so much of Potter that he wanted to laugh bitterly. His fingers rubbed against the raised skin defiantly, as if he could make it disappear.

Melanie squatted beside him, peering at his arm but not in an overbearing or disapproving way. She was merely curious. "Draco," she caught his attention easily enough, and they looked at each other. "I know you feel weak. I know you've got to miss your mum and the life you lived, but because of this," she touched his arm gently, "It's not going to be the same. But you're stronger, Draco. You experienced You-Know-Who's regime first hand, and you are alive. You're breathing, and you aren't stuck in Azkaban."

He closed his eyes and sighed, hanging his head, "I know."

"If you know," she said, yanking his sleeve down at last, "Then live like that. Don't sulk around here acting as if you have the worst life. I kind of take offense at that."

Draco could not help but smirk, the old custom easily sliding onto his face and he lifted his head. His eyes met Melanie's and knew, at last, something good was stable in his life. He was learning to exhale.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm terribly sorry about the late update. I have been struggling with the future of this story and have finally come to a conclusion. Unfortunately, it may not be favored by everyone. This will be the last chapter of this tale. I thought it wrapped up nicely and figured if I tried to get anything else out of it, I'd mess everything else up. Nevertheless, I have come to like Melanie's character and just don't want to give her up. So if you stick around and wait for new stories, I'm sure you'll see her again.

I have also thought about making companion pieces or a sequel. Of course, these may just be one-shot's or short chapter fics. If you are interested, add me to your author alert list!

I want to thank everyone who has reviewed. Your love is beautiful and I hope to see your screen name's pop up again.


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